


300 Letters, or, Time Measured in Postage

by ThreeSidedOrchid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2011-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeSidedOrchid/pseuds/ThreeSidedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns, at last, to England. It’s not as if Severus has been counting the days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	300 Letters, or, Time Measured in Postage

Assembling the tea gives Severus time to think. There is no sound from the other room, nothing to indicate Harry is there, waiting for Severus to return. He gathers himself in the filling of sugar and creamer, the arrangement (then disarrangement) of biscuits.

Efforts that go to pot when he returns to the living room to find Harry bent over his album. He sets the tea down with a thunk and sits, feigning anger. “Still inviting yourself to things that aren’t yours, I see.”

“These are mine.” Harry runs his fingers across the neat pages of postage. “You kept them.”

“I find myself with more time these days, and philately is a respectable hobby.”

Turning the pages of the album, Harry doesn’t reply.

“Why did you send them the muggle way?” Severus asks to distract him, “An owl would have been faster.”

Closing the book, Harry stares at the cover before placing it back on the coffee table. “You told me to see the world.” He gestures to the album. “You can’t deny I have.”

Severus watches warily as Harry stands, coming closer. “I hardly think I’ve encouraged you,” he says, as he said once, years ago.

“You wrote back.” Settling one knee on the couch beside Severus, Harry leans forward.

“Every ten letters or so--” Severus scoffs, trying to ignore the way Harry biting his lip brings back memories of that same mouth pressed against his, eager and inexperienced.

“Every ten letters exactly,” Harry corrects with a soft smile. It fades the next moment to something more serious and unguarded. “You should stop me, if you’re going to.”

He doesn’t, the last of his energy to push others away was used up ages ago, on a battlefield with a boy who tasted as sweet then as he does now.


End file.
